


Mistletiptoe

by tehkittykat



Category: Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: GFY, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:21:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehkittykat/pseuds/tehkittykat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fistfights, Die Hard, video game promos, betting, obligatory Christmas miracles... Rinzler, Sam, and Quorra take on the holidays, two years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletiptoe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel thing to Domestic, though knowledge of the original piece isn't really necessary to understand the basics of what's going on. (As I have not yet decided if I want it in the official timeline, it lives by itself here.)

“If you had told me a cycle ago I’d be interfacing with you of all programs… well not  _you_ telling me for obvious reasons, but…”

Rinzler sighed deeply and pressed his fingers against Quorra’s lips, feeling more than hearing her stifle giggles. She nipped playfully at his fingertips, and he pulled them away with a soft huff. Of course she turned out to be the type to chatter while her power cycles settled down to normal, even if they weren’t _precisely_ in the right universe to cycle power, _per se_. At least she would stay still in his arms and not rise to pace and rant like _some_ programs.

_Much_ more agreeable company, really.

“I can’t believe you were having doubts about your _utility_ ,” Quorra teased, poking a ticklish spot near his ribs and squirming free when Rinzler shifted to catch the offending hand.

“My status has always been questionable,” he rumbled, though maybe without the defensive note his vocals harbored when Quorra had _suggested_ it. She stuck her tongue out, finally allowing him to catch her and pull her close.

“Come _on_. Even _Sam_ lights for you, and Users don’t do it our way.”

“ _Sam_?”

“What, you haven’t seen his eyes practically roll out of his head and follow you around when you come downstairs in nothing but a towel?”

“Only when he does it for _you_.”

“ _Me_?”

Rinzler snorted at her confused look, patting her on the head until she batted his hand away.

“You could always ask him in,” he said innocently, watching with interest as she flushed.

“Users don’t do it the way we do! He’d probably run for it.”

“Want to bet?”

“If you want to lose that badly!”

“Fine. I’ll even let you try _your_ way first.”

When Quorra’s expression went gleefully calculating, it was only natural that he kiss the look off of her.

\----

Rinzler eyed his reflection and could only snort at the absurdity of it. The skintight gray suit—the one that had Sam jogging his hip into a desk earlier, so perhaps Quorra’s observation was accurate after all—was covered in black squares and _ridiculous_ white balls stuck on at various intervals. Rinzler flicked one, not surprised at all to see it almost tear free. _Motion capture_. It would have been more expedient, not to mention _fun_ , to do this in-system and translate the logs into something that the Users could parse.

Then again, given that Tron was _audibly_ grumbling a few feet away, maybe the temporary absurdity was worth it.

“How long are we supposed to draw this out?” Tron said, restlessly trying to cross his arms and prevented by the motion capture suit. He shifted from foot to foot, still not accustomed to the signal-silence of the User world.

“Take as much time as you want,” Ed drawled from the spot he had claimed near the cameras. He had a laptop balanced on his knees, ostensibly to keep an eye on Lesk as the junior security program filled in for Tron.

“We just need fight footage,” one of the other Users, who was making last-minute adjustments to the cameras, said distractedly, “Doesn’t really matter since this is going to be a spot. The more we get, the more we have to work with to cut from. Make it good. We’re up against _Assassin’s Creed_ _and_ _Bioshock_ this year.”

“What, no one is supposed to win?” Tron said, a little disappointedly, as the User swung the last of the cameras into position. All around the room, small red lights flipped on. It was as good a cue as any.

“The whole _point_ of the game is you and Rinzler are supposed to _both_ be viable choices. If one of you stomps the other in the promos, it’s hard to sell that,” Sam said, looking up from the forest of screens at his desk. Tron turned toward the User with an appealing look.

Rinzler paced over to Tron, very deliberately, and flicked the motion-capture ball off his head. It made a very satisfying ricochet against something, but he didn’t exactly have time to watch the little ball fly. He was too busy dodging Tron’s roundhouse kick to his face, already calculating potential vectors to launch the other program along once he caught that foot...

\---

“I think he was drooling,” Quorra said, later, as she handed Rinzler an ice pack, “But that’s not really how Users do it, you know.”

“So you keep telling me,” Rinzler said, wrapping the ice loosely around his wrist. Tape was going to have to hold it together until he could get the injury evaluated.

“I don’t think Users evaluate potential partners on utility at all,” Quorra said thoughtfully. “I mean, otherwise I think you’d be dealing with a _lot_ more of them throwing themselves at you.”

“So how do Users signal, if you’re an expert?”

“ _Um_. Well… they do this thing called dating?”

“They mark timestamps?”

“ _No_ … spend time together doing interesting activities.”

“We already do that.”

“Not like that!” Quorra said. Rinzler rolled his eyes. He didn’t have a chance to clarify the concept, either, since Tron stormed out of the bathroom, the capture suit still bloody from the blow he had taken to the face and looking like he would bruise rather spectacularly.

_Totally_ worth the strain damage to his wrist, in the final calculation.

\---

One hand on the small of Quorra’s back kept most of the interested-looking Users away. Rinzler eyed one of the more forward ones over the rim of his sunglasses until the particularly dense User received the message.

She elbowed him discreetly.

“Where’s Sam?” she murmured in his ear, once they were past the gauntlet of press and others arriving for the charity gala. Bad enough that Sam hadn’t mentioned that the invitation included a provision for a date, but to hide it and just tell them he was working late?

And the User _wondered_ why Rinzler occasionally stole his phone and keys.

Still. He swept his gaze across the crowd, eyeing faces to compensate for the black-and-white sameness of the male dress code. There. He nudged Quorra, who reoriented on their target quickly enough to make him hum faintly. She _smirked_ , the _red_ she’d painted over her lips making the expression even more inviting than usual, and strode forward, her ivory gown glittering faintly in the dim and erratic light of the ballroom.

Even if Sam proved immune to this “date” of hers, Rinzler wasn’t going to complain about the view.

They User looked as if he needed to deploy a distraction anyway, once they caught up to him.

“Guys! Hey,” Sam said, turning a too-bright smile on them as he practically whirled away from the older User that stood nearby.

“Sorry we’re late,” Quorra said, almost purring.

“Oh! Uh, not late at all,” Sam said, and Rinzler rested a hand on _his_ back when the User Sam was speaking with looked about ready to interrupt. Sam didn’t seem to notice, either, as Rinzler discreetly nudged him in the direction Quorra was tugging him. There were couples dancing there, the faint sound of music rising over the chatter of the party as they got closer. Something unfamiliar, without the distinct beat Rinzler was used to, but the Users already on the floor seemed happy enough to sway to its subtle tempo.

“So! We’re here. Want to dance?” Quorra said, tugging Sam’s hand. “Bet it’s more exciting than whatever that guy was going to talk at you about!”

“Sure, I can—aw… shit,” Sam said, his face falling as he scanned the crowd. Rinzler followed his gaze, sighing too when Alan-One loomed out of the crowd with his phone pressed against his ear and an apologetic look.

“Sorry, Sam,” Alan-One said, “Rinzler, Quorra. Nice to see you. We have a problem with the Gomo buyout. They only want to speak to you, and I’d tell them to wait but I’m barely keeping them on the phone and not calling it off.”

“It’s okay, I can take it,” Sam said, stepping away from them and turning back with an apologetic look of his own. “I’ll be back in an hour at the most.. these guys are just nervous it’ll be like nineties Encom all over again.”

Sam patted Rinzler absently on the arm and followed after Alan-One, their heads bent together as they talked about some corporate strategy.

“Well.. let’s not waste the whole night?” Quorra said, a little disappointment easy enough to read in her tone. Rinzler shrugged, letting her drag him into the throng of dancers.

\---

“I can’t believe he just let us! I mean… he could have said something!” Quorra said, her fingers slipping on the tiny zipper on the back of her gown. Rinzler let her fuss with it while he carefully unknotted his tie.

“I think we hurt his feelings,” he finally ventured, shooing her hands away so that he could finally unzip the dress. Quorra huffed, slithering slowly out of the tight fabric, and Rinzler started in on the many buttons on his suit.

“We went to that stupid party for him!”

“You’re the one who said Users don’t do it like we do,” he said, mentally shuffling a few variables in his analysis. “Maybe they only pair.”

“Then why _watch_ us both like that?”

Rinzler sighed, shaking his head a little as he returned vest and jacket to their hangars.

“Try another date?”

“You’re not throwing our bet out of pitying me.”

“I’m not. I don’t want to watch you sad around,” Rinzler said. Quorra threw her slip at him.

\---

A gratifying explosion lit the screen in front of them, and Rinzler snickered softly as the tiny User in the film went yelping over the edge. Sam elbowed him, intent on the action even if the hero’s narrow escape from the complications of gravity was obviously telegraphed. He busied himself with stealing the last of the popcorn instead of watching, twitching a little as Quorra wormed cold toes against his sides.

They were going to have an interesting time untangling themselves when the film was over.

“I thought a Christmas movie would be… I dunno. More twee,” Quorra said as the credits started to roll.

“No way. This is the _classic_ ,” Sam said, laughing a little.

“Was the inefficient takedown of the threats the required Christmas miracle?” Rinzler said. Sam groaned theatrically, picking up the popcorn bowl and pausing when he realized how efficiently he’d been hemmed in. Quorra’s plan of using the film as cover to pile onto Sam hadn’t been bad, and between Rinzler on one side and Quorra draped over them both, has been mostly effective if you discounted the freezing toes.

“Um. Hey, lemmie get more popcorn, huh?” Sam said, flushing an interesting shade of pink. “There are four more movies in the series, if you wanna watch.”

“We don’t have anywhere to go,” Quorra said, batting her eyelashes. “But we’re not in a hurry.”

Sam’s flush deepened—a sign of User interest, if the silly females who sometimes threw themselves at Rinzler were an indication, but instead of taking the hint from their “date,” Sam just squirmed harder out of their pile. Quorra almost lunged after him, missing by a scant second, but Rinzler didn’t hinder the User’s escape, mulling quietly over the contradictory response.

“Glitch,” Quorra hissed as Sam fled into the kitchen, the hum of the microwave covering her words. “What’s wrong with _this_ date?”

“It’s _Friday_ ,” Rinzler said as they rearranged themselves into a more comfortable arrangement with their third missing from the picture. “Maybe it should be more obvious.”

“Not a formal event, and not movie night… ugh,” Quorra said, running her hands through her hair and sighing. “All right. Fine. Holiday party next week. Then we try your way.”

“Fine.” Rinzler stretched and got to his feet to examine the case for the next debatable movie.

“That isn’t permission to gloat.”

“Who’s _gloating_?”

\---

A mug of warm cider cupped in his hands, Rinzler leaned against the wall and sighed, glad to be out of the excited press of Users. The pretty, edited version of the promotional clip he and Tron had filmed was beginning to filter into the User information networks, and some brilliant mind had the idea to play the _extended_ cut of the promotion on the room’s large screen in place of the rather more _twee_ holiday movies that had been on earlier.

This version kept the punch to Tron’s unprotected nose that had ended the filming abruptly. Rinzler had to hide his grin behind the cider, even if the cut had _also_ kept Tron promptly seizing his wrist and flinging him into the camera, which the artists had lovingly added trailing reddish-orange lights to before the video cut and looped again.

Still worth it.

There was a commotion near one of the doors. Rinzler couldn’t see very well, just that the throng of Users there was giggling more than usual. He sidled over to Ed, who was also watching the display and smirking.

“What is that?”

Ed jumped, turning a halfhearted glare on Rinzler.

“Warn a guy,” he said. Rinzler just grinned, staring the User down cheerfully until he started to talk again. “That’s mistletoe. Somebody must have smuggled it in. Uh. User custom, I guess. If you catch someone under the mistletoe, they have to kiss you.”

Rinzler hummed thoughtfully. Ed eyed him sideways.

“Don’t let Sam drop the booze,” the User pronounced. Rinzler grinned. Ed shuddered and took himself elsewhere, perhaps to speak with the other security programmers.

Quorra joined him back at the wall, looking more than a little wilted. He offered her the rest of his cider, which she took with a faint hum of her own.

“Any idea when Sam’ll be back?” she said, still pouting a little once she had drained the cup.

“Soon,” Rinzler said with a shrug.

“What good were all those books if they have no bearing on how Users do anything?” Quorra groused. There was some more commotion near the door, and a sharp uptick in the noise. It seemed Sam was back, though he was fending one of the more eager secretaries off with the alcohol he had volunteered to acquire.

“Maybe it explains Flynn,” Rinzler said, smirking a bit when she swatted him.

“At this rate even if we ambush him with a detailed manual he’d probably misinterpret it!” she said, sighing as she peered into the empty cup. Rinzler charitably refrained from commenting, plucking the glass from her hands and taking it to the drink station. Better not to explain his intentions in case they didn’t work out, though the _tactical advantage_ was too good to pass up.

On the way, he snagged a sprig of the mistletoe that had apparently avoided getting stuck in the bundle hanging haphazardly in the doorframe.

Sam had discovered his own quiet spot near the wall, though it was pointedly across the room from where Quorra was watching the crowd. It was late, though the infusion of intoxicant was likely to keep the party going much longer than it would have ordinarily run. Then again… intoxicated Users were less likely to gossip about who left first.

“Rinzler? You guys partied out already?” Sam said, smiling a little as he caught sight of the former program. Rinzler nodded, casually tossing the bit of greenery at the User. Sam caught it, confusion buying Rinzler the time he needed to snag Sam’s shirt and reel him in for a kiss.

A moment was wasted to a little flailing, but Sam caught on quickly.

\---

Curling into the pile of blankets was much better with three. Sam was still partially draped over Rinzler, an agreeable state since he was keeping Quorra’s always-cold toes at bay with a leg even as she was pressed into his side.

Quorra, who was tapping something that looked like it might be quite lascivious into Sam’s skin. Rinzler was at a bad angle to visually confirm it and too sleepy-sated to bother trying. He’d explain it to Sam later, if the User was curious.

“You win,” she finally announced, almost purring the words in self-satisfaction.

Sam stiffened, pushing up from Rinzler. He was almost the picture of affront, his mussed hair giving the game away.

“Were you guys betting on me?” Sam said, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“Pancakes,” Rinzler said, smirking at Quorra. “ _Chocolate_.”

“You are _so_ boring,” Quorra said.

“You were _betting_ on me?”

Rinzler tugged Sam down, helped by Quorra shifting to lean on the User until he finally resettled with ill grace.

“I’ll share with you,” Rinzler said, smoothing down Sam’s hair.

“We could go to the crepe place,” Quorra said hopefully.

“ _Pancakes_.”

“Well at least I’m worth pancakes,” Sam said. Rinzler pressed his fingers to the User’s lips to shush him.

Sam licked them.


End file.
